


A Dangerous Game

by nostalgia



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, Porn, bit dark i suppose, wallsex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-12
Updated: 2013-05-12
Packaged: 2017-12-11 15:35:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/800313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nostalgia/pseuds/nostalgia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Doctor, Clara, and a bit of stimulation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Dangerous Game

With the door closed there's only just room for two people to hide inside the tiny room. Clara is squeezed against the Doctor, so close that she can feel his heartbeats and the long slow breaths he draws in. He's trying to reset the sonic screwdriver with one hand and all she can really do is stay where she is. She shifts, trying to find a more comfortable position, and he stills her with his other hand. 

It's a bad time to play games, but she moves again, taking care to brush against his crotch. When she feels a reaction she smiles to herself and presses further into him. 

“Clara, stop it.”

“Stop what?” she asks, all pretended innocence.

“You know perfectly well what.”

His heartbeats are faster now, and his breathing slightly ragged. She's winning. 

He moves his mouth to her ear. “Stay,” he says, “still.”

“Is there a problem?” she asks. “Am I distracting you?” His breath tickles the sensitive skin on her neck, but she's still content that she has the advantage.

Then there's a hand on her thigh, moving up over her hips and settling on her breast. This thumb finds her nipple through the thin cotton of her blouse and begins drawing lazy circles over it. She swallows, but his attention is on the screwdriver again. 

She moves a little but just succeeds in giving him better access to her chest. She could tell him to stop. She's pretty certain he'd leave her alone if she just said 'No'. 

She's just not sure if she really wants to.

“They've gone,” he announces.

“What?” she asks, dazed. 

“It's safe,” he says, moving his hand away and opening the door like nothing happened. He pulls her out of the room and into a run. 

_Not fair,_ she thinks, but he hasn't broken any rules.

 

Back in the TARDIS she looks across the console at him and asks “Is that how you get off? Feeling people up in cupboards?”

“I might ask you the same thing,” he says, gazing at her past the glass column in the centre. 

“Me? I was just trying to get comfortable,” she lies. She likes to think she's good at lying. 

“Don't play games with me, Clara, you won't win.”

He's trying to warn her off, but she takes it as a challenge. She rounds the console, draws herself up to her full height next to him, and whispers “Who said I was playing?”

He looks at her through darkened eyes. “What do you want?”

“Isn't it obvious?” 

 

They don't make it to a bedroom. He pushes her up against a wall in the corridor, kissing her as the lights flicker dangerously. 

_Jealous old cow,_ thinks Clara as her hands tangle in his hair. 

He lifts her up and she wraps her legs around him, leaning back against the wall. Her skirt rides up and she feels his erection through their clothes. She find an angle where it rubs against her clit, and moves her hips lazily, hears him groan into her ear. She arches her back, her breasts pressing against his chest. 

He thrusts against her. Her clothes are still on and she's close to coming when he stops moving and lowers her back to her feet.

“Is that all you've got?” she asks, hoping that it isn't. 

He turns her round, places her hands on the wall. With a few quick tugs her skirt is up and her knickers are pulled down past her knees. He discards them on the floor of the corridor and she hears him unzipping his trousers. She loves that noise, always has done. 

There's a pause, and Clara realises that he's waiting for her to say something, giving her a chance to back out. She says, “Go on, then,” and her voice is husky.

His left hand covers hers, stroking the skin on her fingers. She moves her feet further apart and then closes her eyes to savour the feeling of him sliding into her from behind. 

She meets his thrusts with movements of her own, feels his lips on her neck and his fingers against her clitoris. It's not how she'd imagined them consummating anything, but it's good and she's certainly not complaining. 

He doesn't say anything, and she refuses to cry out something that isn't even his real name. It's just moans and grunts and gasps until she comes hard and digs her fingernails against the smooth surface of the wall. His final thrusts are quick and a little rough, and she glances back to see what he looks like when he comes. 

They stay pressed against each other and the wall until the blood stops pounding in her ears. Then she pushes back against him and he leaves her body with a contented sigh. She pulls her skirt down and when she turns round he's tucking his shirt back into his trousers. Her knickers have vanished and she can tell she's looking forward to at least a week of cold showers from the TARDIS. She doesn't care. 

“Clara...” he says, and she tells him to shut up.

“Don't ruin it,” she says.

He looks confused and a little hurt, but she doesn't feel any pangs of regret, any guilt or anguish. She feels good. 

“I don't understand you,” he says, and she smiles.

“Good.”


End file.
